The Island Under the Earth

by Avram Davidson

  Still, there were quite a few who persisted. Ananarusa had mentioned certain known areas and landmarks, and there was a common opinion that they would certainly scout them all out. And yet none protested when the foremost sixies took the trail which went by Stonehouse Hobar. Ananarusa had not indeed mentioned it, but it seemed logical that they should go there; they had all of them been there, at one time or another, sniffing and peering, hatefully-hopefully: the den of ancient enemies, takers of the land and yet providers of bounty. None doubted Ananarusa’s sightings, yet the old stone house was, as far as Fourlimbs were concerned, the landmark of all landmarks. Actual human presence there was rare and long ago; this did not matter. Stonehouse equaled Hobar equaled Fourlimbed Folk. None of them explained it so, none of them even so clearly and coherently thought it so.

  Nevertheless it was so.

  And it was with no surprise but with thrill and relish and even with somewhat of fear but certainly with no diminuition of desire that they heard Trebandóndos, lifting up his head and dilating his nostrils, declare as they approached, “It is smoke which I smell, and also I smell that they have been burning food — Wittolds, cuckolds, drum upon your ticky chests and rouse and warn them all? Be still. Be quiet and be sly. And so we shall catch them in the open….”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Gortecas did not choose that what afterwards happened should happen, afterwards or otherwise. Much as he feared brute-simple, human force, much as he preferred the single subtility of his own way and the protection of his augurial science, there came a point when he had no choice. It was of course upsetting, and a lesser man would have been dismayed; but Gortecas was not a lesser man: lesser men so often fall prey to vices such as loyalty, love, pity, kindliness, generosity, and other disgusting impulses and totally degrading practices. It was hardly the resolution of a second, before, with an inner and an outer shrug, he came to terms with the situation and determined to sail with the winds.

  Several issues and items were involved; for one thing, he had become aware, as the first faint twinge in a tooth — not yet pain, not yet even discomfort — gives warning and advice … he had become aware that if he proceeded on his present path he would meet the other moiety: and he desired few happenings less than that he should at present happen to meet the other moiety. For another, in one form or another, he had traveled enough upon the sea and along its coasts to know all sorts of sailingmen, to appreciate the differences between raiders and wreckers, corsairs and pirates: he did not too much care for any of them, but being able to distinguish and to appreciate the ever-fluid distinctions could be a great help. And, lastly, but certainly first in ultimate importance, he was aware that he was being followed, and he was almost entirely certain by whom (or by what) and what for.

  Wreckers by definition must know well the coast on which they ply their uncertain trade — and a hard trade it is, too: when the stay-at-home craftsman or farmer sits warm by his fire, the wrecker must be out in the snow and the sleet and the hard-driving rains, with his false lights — and anyone who knew this coast well knew that in wrecking weather all mariners either put into cove or stood so far out to sea that no lights could be seen at all. Furthermore, it was much too far inland: hence they were not wreckers. As for raiders, who would raid an empty land? and who would raid a forest? — As for pirates, and as for corsairs, were not the same objections levelable?

  But the augur tired, in an instant, of these quibbles and trifles. There was really only one reason why any crew or group of this general nature would be in this vicinage at all. It was too annoying, it was damnably vexatious, it meant almost certainly a long and rough sea journey at best, it meant an end to any chance of profit from the codless Dellatindílla, it meant … It meant, of course, protection. These grim-faced men in their metal doublets, with their short bows and their swords and javelins, would be more than a match for that nameless (except generically) thing which howled and prowled and hunted and pursued after him. How had it escaped the confining circulum which he had so careful drawn about the tree after carefully and cunningly luring it inside? Ah, well: a riddle and a speculation for other hours.

  He stepped forward upon a ledge so that they could not fail to see him as they came up the hill; this would give a good enough time before they came within bowshot for them to decide he was not dangerous. Of course they stopped short and of course the bowmen nocked arrows and of course they talked and muttered and, then, finally (of course) they gestured him to come down and to approach. They wore no trousers, wore no robes, only a short tunic down to the hips, and breech-clouts; they were barefooted. Marshies, or at least of marshy decent. Yes, yes, it all fitted in, it was almost tiresome how easily it all fitted in; there was no zest or problematical about it at all.

  “Greetings, greetings, men of Allitu,” he said.

  It was with difficulty that he stifled a yawn.

  Aunty Ghreck spoke in a steady stream of words which reached his ears as a sort of soughing murmur, mutter, or mumble; the wind suddenly shifted, and, as she coasted down upon it, he heard her saying, “… troubles, who doesn’t have troubles, do I speak of my troubles? no, because that’s not my nature, I don’t say a word, never mind what I suffer, pay no attention to it, what a lovely nest I used to have in the old days, southern exposure, the finest quality carrion nearby, blam! comes an earthflux, and right away: no nest, overnight the whole neighborhood was changed, ‘So who told you to build here?’ this one says and that one says, did I say a word, no I didn’t say a single word, what, they didn’t complain to me, the whole clutch of them, ‘We thought we had a nice nest to come home to and this is what we find’….

  “Listen, you think I didn’t tell them what was on my mind, because it’s a funny thing about me, I have to speak the truth, wasn’t I saying, oh, just the other aeon, to my daughter Aabba, my daughter Aacca, my daughter Aadda … Aeea, Affa, Agga, Ahha, Aiia, Ajja, Akka …

  “… my daughter Zabba, Zacca, Zadda …

  “… my daughter Zazza, ‘Listen,’ I was saying, ‘Don’t blame me,’ I told them, ‘for all your troublements and woes: blame the island! — look at me while I’m talking to you — blame the island! ’ ”

  But her sole present listener, by reason of their present positions, could not look at her at all.

  • • •

  Tabnath Lo had been twice to Stonehouse Hobar, as well as having heard the way thither discussed at his wife’s family’s table more than once; indeed, it had seemed to him that the whole house of Hobar was a great deal fonder of talking about going there than of actually going there…. Not that any of that mattered. Already, it seemed to belong to another world, the world of cords knotted to indicate measures of meal and bales of stockfish: in short, the world of barley-puddings. It was good to realize that he never need have any more thing to do with barley-puddings. People would laugh, to think that a Syndic of the Sea had ever concerned himself with barley-pudding.

  The price of a syndicship was legally set: no matter how little a syndic might care to part with his position, if anyone of qualifying status came before the Council and produced one-quarter more than the last price paid for a syndicship, then the eldest syndic in office had no choice but to descend from his dais, embrace the one making the offer, and accept. To be sure, more often than otherwise, positions went from father to son … or son-in-law … or grandson…. But that was merely the way things usually had gone. It was not the way things had to go. Lo’s original share of the loot of Allitu would cover the purchase price quite nicely, thank you. And the other share, the share which was also rightfully his, though withheld by the cunning and unscrupulous Stag, that should serve as working capital.

  For a man of vision and capacity wouldn’t simply be content to regard the office as a sinecure, resting at home and letting the bailiffs bring in his set fees and statutory commissions; no, no. A man of vision —

  His mute hissed. Lo blinked. Ah so. Ay yes. Here they were almost there. He composed his mi
nd to deal with the present. Stag was shrewd, Stag was cunning, Stag had almost, almost put him off with all that sly talk of going to the Lonelands. Stag would be on his guard. The best thing, then, would be simply to walk right in, calm and canny, accept the hospitality, and await the best occasion. Stag would not be expecting that. Lo smiled all on one side of his face, and, becoming aware of it, wondered aloud to his mute. “I wonder what Stag’s face will look like when I walk up to the house,” he said.

  “Ssss …” said the mute.

  But of course Stag was not there. It was all a letdown and an anticlimax. Stag’s woman didn’t say very much, but then, she never did say much. There was a countrywoman whom Lo had never seen before; she asked him if he had seen her children. That was all she asked him. The only one who really seemed to have anything to say was the augur — the augur who seemed slightly familiar, but then, one augur does for all augurs. “It was in your mind, you know,” the augur said.

  “What?” Lo was puzzled.

  “It was all inside your own mind.”

  “Augurial riddles? I shan’t bother trying to find the answer; that sort of thing doesn’t interest me,” Lo said. But his mute hissed in a sad sort of manner and slowly nodded his head. And at that moment the arrow thudded into the doorpost, and even if anyone had been prepared to do anything, it was too late. For in a moment men whelmed through Stonehouse Hobar, shouting and growling and a-grumbling; and with them slipped in their lately met companion: Gortecas.

  “Well, goody moiety,” said the augur Gortecas.

  “Well, wicked moiety,” said the augur Castegor.

  “Can’t live with you and can’t live without you,” said the augur Gortecas, moving close to him.

  “Confusion take you,” said the augur Castegor.

  “It will, it will.”

  They faced each other. They sighed. They removed both of them their clothes. They walked into each other, fused, swelled. A different person stood there, and, observing everyone’s astonished look, hastily donned clothes at random from either heap. “Troscegac, Troscegac, Troscegac,” he muttered. And, “It’s so difficult, you see,” he said, “keeping body and soul together….”

  The corsairs who had run upstairs came running down. “Nobody there,” they said. There was hasty talk. To Lo they said, “Almost we did miss you — we’d turned back had we not found that monsterkin as mumbled Allitu betimes it sucked air, so that we knew our trail and spoor was right — where is he, then? Where is he, him whom you hired to rob us, eh, where?”

  Lo was paralyzed with terror. His feet, hands and mouth trembled. The corsairs made mention, some of them, of such things as feet held to fires, of sharpened sticks, knotted cords used not to measure merchandise but to twist around temples as aids to memory. However, the one who seemed the most in authority discountenanced the notion. “The woman, we have,” he said; “and the partner we have, too. The lever, we have; and the fulcrum we have, too. So let us now be getten back to boat and shore and oar.”

  There was some dissident clamor at this. What! Were they not to wait for Stag and all this way they had come — what? The senior was firm. No, they were not to wait for Stag; it was likely enough that Stag would come after them; if he did not, they could command information … ransom … satisfaction — his cold eyes turned to Lo’s cold-sweaty face and limp figure — without Stag. “Meanwhile,” the senior said, “in a place where sixies have been or are likely to be, I care not to linger. Up, then, and down — ”

  He had struck the necessary note. Little enough they knew of sixies, sons of marshdwellers, themselves islanders; but the little was larded with legend and braised with fear and fantasy. Sixies! Ah ho, ay well, yes …

  Only Rary resisted, and they struck her down and left her.

  So, when at last the sixies did come, they found the house empty, and great was their disappointment: nor was there so much as a bit of bread, a sop of milk or a drain of wine to comfort them. “They have taken yander narrow trail,” said Chevantiróros, “thinking perhaps to pass thus unseen.” He threw back his head and guffawed. “Ah ha…. Well, let them, tis uncomfortable for all us to crowd upon it, let us go by the broader way, let us go slow and easy, the wee path falls adown into the broad main. We shall go, brothers, slow and easy, easy and slow, brothers. And when we have gotten them between the half-hills and the sea, brothers: Ah ha! And, oh ho!”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Troscegac the augur spoke often to himself, for he was not yet used to being one again. “There is an oddness in the air, is there not?” he asked. “And has been, somehow, since the rainy night. Odd … odd … indefinable, indescribable … had that night not been so overcast, we might have seen a thing or two to shed as it were light upon the subject.” He issued a brief titter. “Eh, not so? To be sure. Or unsure, as the case may equally be. Or be not. Perhaps we unnecessarily perturb ourselves, awaiting upon starflux, upon earthflux. We say that they are yet to come. Perhaps. This is but assumption, this is but uncertainty. What is certain and what alone is certain is that they have already been. That they have already been, all men must agree. That they are yet to be again, all men need not necessarily agree. One cries out and declares, ‘He is coming!’ and at the selfsame moment another declares and cries out, ‘He has already gone!’ Which is a-right? May not both be right? Certainly. It all depends on where each one is standing at the time….

  “For the whole is contained within each of its parts. That is to say, all events are contained within each event, as Gortecas and Castegor are contained within Troscegac, as elements of every part of a quickworm are contained within any part of a quickworm: cut it into never so many pieces, will not each piece and part regenerate itself into an whole? Assuredly.” He coughed and spet and waggled his head. “Many philosophers,” he said, “have disputed the question, Does the future indeed follow the past? or does it perhaps precede it? If time is cyclical in nature like a turning wheel, need the wheel and does the wheel turn ever in only one direction? and what, if anything, precludes the wheel from reversing itself? before, during, after any full turn is made — in which case might not the past in a very actual sense come before the future? Hence, need there truly be sequences? may there not be simultaneity?

  “Is not the present a cross-section of eternity?”

  And so he babbled on. The corsairs said nothing; they nothing understood. Lo said nothing; he was still from fear. Spahana said nothing; what should she say? The rim of the plate turned round and round and round, the scenes seemed but all phases of the same one scene: captivity. The mute said nothing, for no word could he say, and for the moment he forebore even to hiss.

  • • •

  In between the half-hills and the sea is a wide, wide area, rather like a vast dish, and here certain things took place. Someone looking down from dead above might regard them indeed as scenes painted upon the rim of a platter. Someone might see these scenes alive and not be aware of which came first to life and being. It might not matter in the least. The matter might well be unanswerable. But, as with a circle, one measures its circumference by beginning at any point, there being neither proper beginning nor proper end, so imagine the observer to begin by descrying a group of armed men standing off a group of attacking centaurs. And next would be a scene showing a few unarmed men turning here and there in confusion and alarm. And going further round the rim is seen a woman standing by herself. And now comes a single centaur from off the scene entirely, swift at the gallop, hair and beard and mane and pelt all silvery. And next appear two further armed men and one sees the woman and cries out something, so: “Spahana! Spahana!” The woman turns and sees him, the woman begins to raise her arms towards him, the woman throws one arm across her face quite suddenly, the woman cries to anyone who might listen something which might be, “Oh, tell him I am not yet ready — ” and throws up both her arms and reaches out to and is caught up by the silvery centaur and vaulted over his back and gone, and gone, and gone, dwindling, dwindling
—

  And now, suddenly, every ear is bent and every face changes tenor and there comes a strident shrillness and there comes a dull and heavy, heavy humming. Now, suddenly and all is terribly changed. There comes a noise like the bellowing of great bulls — hundreds and thousands and myriads of great bulls; there comes a noise like the shrilling of endless swarms of great bats; a noise like gigant bull-roarers; men stop and look up and around, centaurs stop and look around and up, from every throat a cry of terror comes before terror stills every throat —

  For that perpetual obscurity in the corner of the sky has begun to brighten and to clear, that fixed and immovable tangent has come unfixed and has begun to move, and even had its starry warning not gone unperceived, what could either four limbs or six have done or do now either to prepare or to resist or flee? — it gathers speed, and, shield dropped and disregarded, it tears itself loose from its eternal corner of the firmament and now appears for a sole second as a gigant disk all strangely marked and then with its rumblethunder-rumblethunder it slides into a thin bright line and expands into a spindle stretching from horizon to horizon and spins across the sky: earthquake, skyquake, seaquake, rain, thunder, waterspouts, earthspouts, going up, coming down, lightning, hail, showers of burning stones, brightness, darkness, heaven become hell —

  The centaurs stoop and squat and piddle in fear, the men let drop their arms and fall face down upon the shaking ground: “Earthflux! Earthflux! Earthflux!” is the one common cry. Only the augur, half-thrown, half-resisting, dares to point a trembling hand, dares to cry out, “There is the source of all our woe! — that accursed Island above the earth!”